


Jurassic Park Snippets

by taenia



Category: Jurassic Park (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:42:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taenia/pseuds/taenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Random bits of things that my brain has been vomiting up while I try to get past my block on 'Intentions.' Deals mostly with canon stuff that annoys me, and that I therefore need to fix by utterly ignoring canon. Since most of it is focused on making my brain behave on Intentions, most of this is focused on Wu/Muldoon, but my horrible friends might possibly have inspired me to write some Muldoon/Clever Girl and also I might put in some of my Ian Malcolm stuff, because writing jerks is fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Three Problems

**Author's Note:**

> Drabble about why there are so many damn things on Sorna that aren't on the official list of things. Takes place between the (planned) end of Intentions and the start of the first film.

As far as Robert Muldoon can tell, there are three problems with Hammond's machine.

The first problem is that the machine works at all. The longer Muldoon stays on the island, the more he has come to hate the monsters that creep out of Henry's dreams, into his world. The creatures, as far as he is concerned, should all be destroyed. The machine should be abandoned, hidden, and forgotten, if it cannot be destroyed.

Nothing with this kind of power should exist.

The second problem with the machine is that it cannot distinguish between dream and conscious thought. Everything inside of Henry's mind comes spilling out; skin and bone and the thousand and one details of living flesh and blood that Henry can, somehow, hold in his head. Anger and desire and the tired anxiety of a boy still trying to prove himself. And, above all, fear. Fear that he is going to change the world, fear that his work will destroy the people, and the ideas that he loves.

When the female raptor looks at him, Robert knows exactly how Henry feels, and Robert knows, too, that one day, he will not be careful enough, or quick enough, or clever enough to calm Henry's fear.

The third problem with the machine is that Henry is trapped inside, and Robert does not know how to get him out.


	2. Allopreening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because dinosaur courtship should be birdlike, dammit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feathery!Clever Girl, because why the fuck not, feathers are adorable and fluffy and good for cuddling. SUCH CUDDLE. SUCH BARF.

She is warm and soft, and her scent has become familiar.

She has taken to sleeping next to him, breathing gently, her head tucked under her wing, tail curled and feathers spread. With her eyes closed and her claws tucked into the soft down of her breast, she feels almost safe.

Sometimes, she presses up next to him, eyes half closed, trilling contentedly while he runs his hands down the nape of her long neck, scratching the soft skin underneath.

When fog settles over the island, cold and wet, she climbs onto his belly. She is a furnace, and he is grateful for her presence, though he is also, in those moments, horribly aware of her claws, as they dig into his shirt, trying to find purchase.

The would on his chest was a long time in healing; it has left an ugly, puckered gash across his ribs. Sometimes, he catches a reflection of his face in a shallow pool, or in some metal thing that has not yet turned to rust; it is a scarred mess, a stranger's countenance.

He has forgiven her.

Sometimes, he thinks he sees something beyond hunger in her amber eyes. Loyalty, perhaps, although it is hard to tell. When he is near, her feathers ruffle, and she hops from foot to foot, butting at his head, like an overgrown cat.

Once, they stumbled across another raptor, drinking from a quiet stream. He thought it might have been a male; its feathers were scarlet and gold. It certainly was not one of her original packmates; he remembered those all too well.

He remembers watching her attack, the grace with which she sprang, claws grasping into flesh, while her wings beat furiously in the other's face. He watched blood spill out over its beautiful golden breast, while she delightedly tore at its gut, although she did not eat.

He was certain, that night, that she would, finally, kill him; he felt her breath on the back of his neck as he slept, teeth at his shoulder blades, her wing claws raking at his chest. But in the morning, he was still alive. The biting and clawing grew more frequent, but she never injured him.

Now, he is used to it, and there are nights when he cannot sleep if he has not felt the scraping of her teeth across his skin, the rough scrabbling of her claws across his legs.

One morning, she wakes him suddenly, pressing her face roughly into his. She smells overpoweringly of gore, and when he opens his eyes, he can see only her muzzle. Usually neat, the feathers of her face are flecked with fresh blood.

As he blinks in grogginess, suddenly, her jaws open. He thinks for a moment that he is going to die, but instead, there is a queer sound in the back of her throat, and suddenly his face is covered with warm goo -- half-digested flesh. The smell is appalling.

He stumbles to his feet, backing away from her, slowly.

She looks at him curiously, then lowers her muzzle to the ground, pushing forward the steaming, rancid glob of meat. When he does not respond, she repeats the gesture, with an encouraging purr.

Finally, he understands. He has become her chick, he supposes, and needs to be fed. Gingerly he picks up a portion of the reeking flesh. He cannot bear the thought of putting it into his mouth, but the gesture seems to be enough to appease her, her feathers fluff to let him know that she is pleased. He does not understand why she has suddenly decided to feed him. They have hunted together; she has watched him eat.

Later, he is cleaning the carcass of a goat (one that had, miraculously, survived), when she presses her body next to him, placing her head close to his, purring low in her throat. It is the same sound that she made when offering her kill.

Finally, he understands.


End file.
